


Vampires

by sam80853



Category: Dresden Files (TV), due South
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-14
Updated: 2011-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-14 18:34:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/152222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sam80853/pseuds/sam80853





	Vampires

**Author's Note:**

  * For [This was written for stormymouse's birthday](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=This+was+written+for+stormymouse%27s+birthday).



It's one of these days after a day’s work at the Consulate – no, not even work per se, Fraser has to admit, because taking care of Inspector Thatcher's dry cleaning and standing endless hours in front of the Consulate, defending Canada's last line, as Ray would put it, isn't anything resembling the work he used to do in the Northwest Territories.

Usually his work with Ray on cases regarding the people of Chicago keeps Fraser from thinking about his home to a greater extent, but he hasn't been able to liaise with Ray all week either which leaves him feeling rather restless and unsatisfied.

A brisk walk in the park is called for to lighten his darker moods and even if dusk has already fallen over Chicago, Fraser walks his familiar path with Diefenbaker chasing imaginary squirrels, or so Fraser guesses to be the case. He suspects his loyal companion would fall into shock if he caught an actual animal, he wouldn’t know what to do with it unless it was deep-fried and covered in sugar. The half-wolf has become too dependent on Chicago's pastries offered by Ray; a hunting lesson over the next weekend might cure him of that notion.

Diefenbaker suddenly stops running around in circles, his ears leaning back and his sharp fangs showing. A deep growl escapes his throat.

A man, about 6'8 in height, dressed in dark clothes is holding off an attacker with his outstretched hand, from the look of it. The attacker is showing off fangs similar to Diefenbaker's, apparently aiming for the other man's throat. An illusion of an electrical shield shimmering in the air is coming off the man holding out his hand, like he's somehow producing a protective shield in front of his body, blocking his aggressor.

Fraser starts to run, spotting two more men out of the corner of his eyes who are obviously fervently discussing whether or not to come to aid of the man under attack. One of them is holding the other one back, almost trying to drag him further away from the fight. The two are Japanese, Fraser figures – tourists perhaps? - when the man who is desperately trying to convince his friend to help, talks agitatedly in his native language. Of which Fraser learnt a few words at his grandparents’ library.

"Hanashitekure Ando. Tasukerunoga, bokunoshigotoda. Bokuwohanashitekure." … Let go, Ando! It's my mission to help. Let go of me!

"Dameda, Hiro! Kiminiha chikaraganai, Hiro." … No, Hiro! You have no power. Hiro!

Fraser would very much like to witness how this battle of moral courage ends but the attack is still on and his assistance will no longer be delayed.

He is almost within reach when the man holding off his attacker lifts up a hockey stick, which wasn't visible to Fraser until now, chanting words unrecognisable to Fraser's ears.

The air becomes thicker around the man; energy is flooding all around the struggling until it's suddenly released and goes off in a blast of fire, turning the assailant to ashes.

A vampire then, which should have been obvious to Fraser already. Human beings with those kind of fangs are really not that common. Apart from Doug McKinney from Old Crow, who could rip apart a small whale with his teeth.

Ando!

Fraser turns his head, looking out for the other two witnesses who have already turned their backs and walked off into the night.  
So much for moral courage then; Fraser sighs deeply and faces the crime scene again.

Deserted.

Just a circle of burnt grass and ashes.

Oh dear.

Fraser kneels down, carefully touching the fast-cooling ash with his hand while Diefenbaker refuses to take a closer sniff, keeping outside the circle of burnt grass.

"You have to call it in, son."

"What, dad?" Fraser looks up to his father, who has made an irritating habit of appearing and disappearing to his liking, leaving Fraser often rather stupidly looking behind, talking to thin air.

"It's a crime scene, son, a man has been killed. Justice has to be sought."

"It was not a man, but a vampire, dad."

"Semantics!"

Fraser sighs, not even wondering why he is accepting the existence of vampires in the first place. After all he has seen stranger things happening. There once was a musk ox … that's not important right now. What is important is that Fraser is not averse to believing in the supernatural. His best friend as a child, Innusiq, once told him the legend of the Loup-garou, a werewolf intentionally cursed by someone to be possessed by a wolf-like demonic entity at every full moon.  
If he can accept the existence of werewolves it would be rather foolish to not believe in the reality of vampires.

"Do you believe in vampires, dad?"

"I was bitten by one once." Bob Fraser voice becomes distant and Fraser looks resignedly heavenward. "Joe Leech was a rather foolish man," Bob continues. "Took the meaning of his name pretty seriously. After one beer over the eight Joe bit my throat, he was too inebriated to remember that he's supposed to aim for the aorta but … those bite marks were rather hard to explain to your mother, mind you."

"Did he go up in flames?"

"I pushed him into a snow bank, son, I did not stick a stake into his heart."

"Of course."

"Perhaps you just witnessed a vampire slayer doing his work."

"A vampire slayer, Dad? Where did you get such things from?"

"Cable, son," Bob answers seriously. "There isn't much to do in the afterlife after all."

“Well that’s very helpful Dad, thanks.” Fraser fetches an evidence bag out of his belt, places ashes into it for future reference.

"You are not calling it in? I taught you better than that, son."

"Diefenbaker!" Fraser ignores his father and leaves the crime scene behind without looking back.

~::~::~

"Fraser! Buddy! Just the man I was looking for!" Ray greets him enthusiastically as soon as Fraser steps into the station house. Fraser feels one of Ray's arms going around his shoulder, steering him toward a flight of stairs leading down to the morgue.

"Ah, good morning, Ray," Fraser smiles delightedly, letting himself been led. He has missed his friend – and their work together, of course – over the period of almost five days and is eager to spend the whole day in Ray's company.

"'Good' I would not say, Frase." Ray says hesitantly. "Welsh sends me down to the cold storage and …," he makes a gesture with his hand which indicates Ray's disgust or rather fear of this part of his job.

"I understand, Ray."

Fraser walks beside his friend down the stairs toward the station's morgue. Polka music sounds through the hall as they approach and Ray stops in his tracks.

"What the hell is Mort listening to?"

"Mort is in Miami, Ray," Fraser explains, "attending a seminar about blood spatter. He was rather keen to finally meet a specialist on this area, one Mr. Morgan, Dexter Morgan if I remember correctly."

"Blood spatter?" Ray asks frowning over the music which sounds admiringly energetic if not a bit uneven, lumpy, with odd jerks and breaks.

"Yes, Ray. You see, blood spatter can tell quite a story about …"

"I don't wanna know," Ray jerks away from Fraser, his face turning a tad pale.

Perhaps it's just a trick of the light; Ray has certainly seen more blood in his life as a police detective than you would think based on his reactions to everything … dead, really.

"So it's the weird nightshift guy then," he says, pushing the double doors open, staring in surprise.

The doctor is a rather small man, perhaps five-foot-three in his shoes, a light-weight as well, even wirier than Ray. He is dressed in blue hospital scrubs and hiking boots. What makes his appearance so surprisingly unusual is the bass drum strapped to his back, and a couple of wires which run to his ankles from a pair of beaters mounted on the frame. The drum beats in time to stomps of his feet. A small tuba hangs from his slender shoulders, and there are even more strings attached to his elbows, which move back and forth in time to the drum. He holds an accordion in his hands, strapped to the harness on his chest. A clarinet has been clamped to the accordion so that the end is near his mouth, and there is a cymbal on a frame held to his head.

Dr. Waldo Butters.

"Good morning, Dr. Butters," Fraser greets and the music stops abruptly.

"Constable Fraser," Butters smiles brightly, stomping his foot one last time before he tries to get out of his harness.

"Let me give you a hand," Fraser steps closer, his hands untangling the man from his diverse strings; a fleeting glance leading him to recognise the other person in the room.

A man wearing an overall, his back turned, screening a bucket and broom with his body. Something about him makes the hair on Fraser's neck stand on end.

Fraser looks closer and the broom in the man's hand seems to morph– first it's a broom, then a … hockey stick?

"Good morning, sir!" Fraser greets, stepping closer to the man to have a better look at his mysterious appearance of shifting between a person of average height in a blue overall with a broom in his hand to a man, about 6'8 feet, in jeans and leather jacket with the unusual tool of a hockey stick. But Butters intervenes, blocking Fraser's path.

"That's just ... Harry," Butter says smiling, and the man, Harry, slowly moves toward the door.

"Fraser!" Ray sounds annoyed about the delay, rolling on the back his heels nervously. Apparently he wants to leave the morgue as soon as possible. He doesn't seem to recognize anything out of the ordinary about the cleaner and Fraser rubs his eyebrow left-handed. Perhaps the bright lighting and the smell of disinfectants causes some kind of dysfunction of his optical nerve. It's a rare phenomenon but not unheard of.

"I'm sorry, Ray." Fraser drags his eyes off of the cleaner and tries to focus on Ray and their reason of being in the morgue in the first place - the victim on the table, covered by a blue sheet.

"What is it with you?" Ray asks, looking between Fraser and Harry who has reached the door just now, leaving the room.

"It's nothing, Ray," Fraser assures. "I'm fine." But there is something amiss and Fraser just can't get rid of the feeling that he has seen this person somewhere else recently and ... His head comes up, he can barely spot the man through the small windows in the door but the illusion of an ordinary cleaner is gone completely now. No bucket or broom, just a man with a hockey stick moving carefully to not draw any attention toward the exit.

"I have to go." Fraser rushes out the door without further ado, barely hearing Ray's frantic, almost fearful, voice calling his name.

"Fraser! Fraser! Fraser!"

Just on top of the stairs Diefenbaker is waiting for Fraser, evidence of his former activities clearly visible around his muzzle.

Powdered sugar.

"We will have a stern word later," Fraser sighs on his way out, Diefenbaker right on his heels. "Do not think I'll forget about it," he warns his companion when the half-wolf tries to distract from the current situation he is in by asking about their prey.

~::~::~

Harry is walking in front of them, apparently unaware of his trackers. He seems to have a destination in mind – a multi-storied building five blocks down the main road, three turns – one right and two to the left. His place of residence and/or place of work from the sign saying Harry Dresden – Wizard on the door.

Diefenbaker voices his uneasiness when Fraser opens the door and enters, surprising the office owner who is swearing rather rudely, addressing another man with fairly white hair.

"I'm truly sorry to interrupt your ongoing discussion, Mr. Dresden," Fraser tugs at his collar and closes the door, half-expecting Ray to come around the corner. But, of course, Ray hasn’t followed him; he’s just used to having Ray at his side on an investigation. If here is anything to investigate that is. Diefenbaker is already searching his surroundings, complaining about the absence of pastries.

"That's what I would call good manners, Harry," the white haired man says sarcastically, no doubt referring to Mr. Dresden's colourful words just now.

"Bob!" Harry hisses out of the corner of his mouth, gesturing with his hand. Apparently a sign going unnoticed or purely ignored by the other man, Bob. "What …," Dresden hesitates, obviously recognising Fraser. "It's you."

"Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police. I first came to Chicago on the trail of the killers of my father and, for reasons that don't need exploring at this juncture, have remained, attached as a liaison with the Canadian consulate. I'm afraid I have to ask about your business at the Chicago morgue, Mr. Dresden."

"Morgue, Harry?"

"Seems like your blending brew didn't work that well," Harry whispers, raising both his eyebrows at the other man.

"I resent that implication!" The older gentleman is obviously more than a little offended. "As I have told you many times, Harry, it's not a Ring of Invisibility or a Shadowcape. It can't be done like that, not even by me," his hand is pressed against his chest to emphasise the statement. "Any half-decent observer would see right through it."

Fraser coughs quietly, shifting their attention back onto him.

"Be that as it may, Mr. Dresden…" Fraser is about to say when Robert Fraser appears out of nowhere.

"It's the slayer, son, you have to arrest him."

Harry reaches for his hockey stick immediately like it’s some kind of weapon, but, more importantly for the moment, like he's able to see Fraser's quite long deceased father.

"Harry!" The white haired man calls out a warning, apparently also aware of Bob Fraser's presence.

"Oh dear," Fraser whispers, looking into three rather stunned faces.

"Son?"

"That poor boy is haunted by his deceased father."

"Not now, Bob!"

"Haunted? I wouldn't use quite that term. Social visits I would call …" Bob Fraser insists.

Everybody is talking at once and Fraser's head is spinning. He hadn’t expected a stranger to be able to see his father. After all just his sister, Maggie, as well as his father’s partner, Buck Frobisher, and the men involved in Bob Fraser’s death were ever able to see his father’s ghost.

"Bob, your skull," Harry orders insistently and suddenly the white haired man lifts off the ground, to Fraser’s astonishment, disappearing into thin air in a wave of light.

"Neat trick," Bob Fraser says approvingly.

"Thank you."

Fraser tugs at his ear uncertain of what he has just witnessed. He obviously isn't the only one accompanied by a ghost, but naturally, why should he be?

"You look shell-shocked, son."

"I … ah, I am not. I'm merely …"

"Finish your sentence, son,” Bob scolds mildly. “An unfinished sentence is a first sign for a deranged mind.”

“Dad.”

“What about you, young man,” Bob faces Harry now, assessing the other man. “How does one become a vampire slayer?”

“A what?” Harry asks in disbelief, staring at the ghost.

Bob gesticulates wildly with his right hand, giving the impression of someone stabbing somebody. “You know, a slayer like that blond girl on cable.”

“It’s a television show, Dad, for God’s sake,” Fraser exclaims, looking apologising at Harry, indicating his embarrassment about his obviously delusional father.

“Doesn’t mean it is not true, son. I once knew …”

“Please, Dad, not know.”

“No time like the present, son,” Bob smiles kindly.

“I’m truly sorry, Mr. Dresden,” Fraser tugs at his ear, trying to hush his father by pure will. Even better to make him go away but …

“Would you mind terrible to demonstrate your technique, Mr. Dresden?” Bob ignores his son completely, waving his hand in a stabbing motion again. “As an officer of the law you never know when such skill may come in handy.”

“You are dead, Dad.”

"Don't use that tone with me, young man," Bob Fraser is about to start raving when Harry raises his left hand, mumbling something under his breath. Bob's voice just becomes inaudible.

"Tea?" Harry offers, not paying any attention to Bob Fraser who is still speaking away despite his obvious muteness.

"That would be delightful, thank you." Fraser rubs his eyebrow in discomfort. He really should say something regarding his father's inability to raise his voice but truth to be told he's glad to not have to listen to one of his father's suggestions/advices. "I'm afraid I still have to ask about your business at the morgue."

"Of course," Harry says, offering Fraser a cup of tea and a seat in front of his desk. "You're with the police?"

"Yes. No." Fraser feels his left hand lifting on his own account, rubbing over his eyebrow. „You see, I am a policeman in Canada. I have no jurisdiction whatsoever here but …"

"You saw what I did last night."

"Yes."

"You think anybody at the station is going to believe in that kind of thing happening?"

"I'm certain, Mr. Dresden,…"

"Harry."

"Harry. I'm certain if we provide the necessary information…" Fraser stops talking, tugging as his collar. Apparently just presenting their evidence – just a single bag of ashes -will not work in this particular case. "Understood. Nevertheless there still is the victim – a human victim, I presume? – at the morgue."

"About that," Harry leans back heavily in his seat. "Her name is Vivian Leigh, she is … was my client."

"May I ask about your business with her?"

“Yeah,” Harry rubs over his face like someone who hasn’t slept very well. “She was an employee of “Dora’s Antiques Shop”, her boss, Isadora Conroy, is dealing with artefacts and Vivian became aware of some ‘bizarre things’ as she put it.”

"Bizarre?"

"What do you know about magic, Constable?"

"I'm aware of events not easily explained by logic," Fraser cocks his head toward his still mute father who takes immediately advantage of Fraser's attention, gesturing widely, 'voicing' his dissatisfaction about his current situation.

"I was thinking about magical objects which supply power."

"Ah, I see. The Inuit believe all things have a form of spirit and that to some extent these spirits can be influenced by a pantheon of supernatural entities. A Shaman …"

"Yeah, I get your drift," Harry interrupts, cutting Fraser's rather long story short. “Vivian’s boss, Dora, got tangled up in some serious business with the Black Court. She obviously used her connection to gain possession of a very powerful object, and now she is disappeared. And Vivian is dead."

"The Black Court?"

"That guy last night was a vampire of the Black Court," Harry explains, and Fraser sees the wizard slightly shivering. "Nasty bastards. Basically like Bram Stoker described them."

"I beg your pardon?" Of course Fraser has read about the Irish writer in the Carcross community library and he certainly knows his popular but rather terrifying novel "Dracula" based on European folklore. But learning that Mr. Stoker may be right about most of his theories is rather unsettling.

"That publication is the primary cause of their downfall, Constable. Those few who survived are among the strongest and most cunning monsters in the world," Harry adds seriously.

"Oh dear!"

"Yeah. That's why I don't want the police involved."

"I'm afraid Detective Vecchio is already assigned to the case."

Oh, dear, Ray. Fraser suddenly remembers in which situation he has left his partner; Ray will be very upset, furious even, with him.

"We should leave," Fraser reaches the door, calling for Diefenbaker, when he catches sight of his father again. "What about …?" But Harry is right behind Fraser, hockey stick in hand – Fraser has to ask him about that particular tool some time –and just waves his hand before he closes the door behind them. Robert Fraser's: "Benton!" is barely audible through the door.

"That was rather … never mind," Fraser frowns slightly but hurries along the boardwalk, Harry and Diefenbaker on his heels.

~::~::~

As soon as Fraser enters the station house again, steering Harry into Interrogation Room Two, he knows he's in serious trouble. Diefenbaker takes his chance in staying with Harry rather than facing a furious Chicago Detective.

"I really should pop you one, Fraser," Ray lifts off his seat behind his desk as soon as he spots Fraser, two fingers pointing accusingly at Fraser's chest as he walks closer. "Buddies means sharing, Fraser, and you just took off, leaving me alone with Butters and that dead woman."

"I'm truly sorry, Ray."

"You won't believe what Butters told me," Ray continues, rolling on the back of his heels, as Fraser hasn't said anything.

"I beg to differ."

"What?"

"Call it a hunch, Ray, but I believe Dr. Butters told you that our victim, Mrs. Vivian Leigh, has died of blood loss, caused by the attack of a vampire."

"Did you hit your head, Frase? A vampire? You have to be kidding me."

"Ray, Shakespeare once wrote..."

"Oh, no, Fraser, do not get all, you know, Shakespearey on me," Ray shakes his head vehemently before he looks suspiciously at Fraser like something has just dawned on him. "How do you know her name anyway?"

"You’ll see, Ray," Fraser walks toward Interrogation Room Two, opens the door, revealing Harry and Diefenbaker to Ray.

"You solved the case?"

"Of course not, Ray," Fraser rubs embarrassed over his eyebrow. "Mr. Dresden is a private investigator and in possession of useful information which could lead us to Mrs. Leigh's murderer and furthermore to the kidnapper of her employer."

"Employer? What are you talking about?" Ray frowns annoyed at Fraser. Fraser feels Ray's patience running thin, a rather endearing habit of his friend and partner. Endearing is one word for it.

"Maybe I can ..."

"You shut up," Ray says rather rudely still waiting for Fraser to answer.

"Ray!"

"Do not Ray me, Fraser," Ray glares; he apparently has reached his limit. "I've been downstairs for over an hour, listening to someone even freakier than you. Staring into dead eyes and here you come, your PI friend in tow and all, and I don't even know where you have been. I ..."

"Ray! Ray! Ray!"

Fraser has to stop his friend before Ray has worked himself into having a stroke, his carotid artery alarmingly visible and still swelling.

"What?"

"Settle down, Ray, please," Fraser dares to touch his agitated friend which he rarely allows himself to do unless in life threatening situations that is. Touching Ray is a luxury and rather addictive, feeling Ray's warm skin under his hands. "Take a seat."

"Yeah, okay." Ray really calms down and Fraser wonders if Ray just run out of steam or if he really is able to affect his friend’s mood by a simple touch.

"He always like this?" Harry asks and Fraser feels Ray tense under his hand that is still on Ray's shoulder, refusing to break their contact.

"Detective Vecchio a very passionate man, Harry," Fraser answers, willing his friend with his touch to keep in control of his temper. With success. At least Ray doesn't 'jump Bogart' all over Harry but Fraser couldn't hope for Ray keeping quiet.

"I'm right here, Frase," Ray kind of growls in Harry's direction. "Spill!"

"About that, Ray," Fraser rubs his eyebrow nervously, suspecting that it won't be easy to convince Ray to let Harry and himself handle the case. Not under any circumstances would Fraser allow Ray to become involved in a case when Ray doesn’t believe in the existence of vampires and is therefore not prepared to defend himself properly.

"Fraser!"

"All right then," Fraser takes a deep breath. This isn't going to go over well. "Our victim, Mrs. Leigh, was a client of Mr. Dresden," he explains, head pointed towards Harry. "Furthermore Mrs. Leigh was also an employee of Isadora Conroy, the owner of the prestigious Dora’s Antiques Shop , whom Mr. Dresden suspects to be kidnapped by...," Fraser falters, tugging at the collar of his uniform which has suddenly become overly warm and scratchy.

"Vampires," Harry adds helpfully.

"Correct, vampires of the Black Court as I understand," Fraser continues carefully looking at Ray, waiting for his inevitable explosion.

"Vampires," Ray repeats slowly, still a picture of calmness. But Fraser isn't fooled; he can almost physically feel Ray's scepticism.

Oh dear, here it comes, Fraser sighs inwardly as Ray eyes squint, an obvious sign of his soon-to-happen burst.

"Are you a few french fries short of a happy meal, Fraser?"

"I'm not aware of ...," Fraser tries to deflect by playing naive but ...

"Fraser!"

Futile.

"Who the hell are you?" Ray goes for Harry now, apparently suspecting something untoward on Harry's part to lure Fraser into a supernatural cult.

"Ray!"

"Shut up, Fraser!"

Ray approaches Harry who feels intimidated enough to raise from his chair, backing away, Hockey stick in hand and Fraser becomes afraid, has witnessed what Harry is able to accomplish with this particular tool. He intervenes immediately, stepping between a furious Ray and the threatened wizard.

"Ray, please." Fraser touches Ray's shoulder with both hands, feels Ray's fervently energy beneath his hands, and almost gets burnt by it. "Ray!"

Fraser has witnessed Ray's passion more than once, but he has only seen this kind of protectiveness when Ray's ex-wife is involved. He is torn between delight and worry because as much as Fraser wishes Ray to protect him like this in his imagination, trying to intimidate an obviously powerful wizard is never wise.

"Ray!"

As suddenly as Ray's energy has flared it's gone. Ray steps back, breaking their connection and Fraser wants to reach for his friend, pull him close again, to feel Ray’s passion underneath his hands. But this is neither the time nor the place; it never seems to be, for that matter, Fraser sighs.

"I'm good, Frase."

“Ray …”

“I’m good,” Ray repeats, stepping back further, his hands buried in the pockets of his jeans. “Where did you meet that guy?” Ray jerks his head in Harry’s direction.

“I,” Fraser coughs nervously. Ray certainly would see Fraser’s silence about the incident he has witnessed the other night as a lack of trust in him.

“Actually,” Harry suddenly starts speaking, his Hockey stick already lowered, “I ran into the Constable last night when he offered me a hand in my investigation.”

“That true?”

It is, correctly speaking, Fraser thinks but it’s not all of it and Ray certainly deserves to know the whole story.

“In a manner of speaking, yes, Ray.”

Ray glares at Fraser, knowing Fraser too well to let a half-truth slip by unnoticed.

“Diefenbaker and I were at the park last night,” Fraser continues hesitantly. “We witnessed an attack upon Harry’s person and as an officer of the law I felt obligated to …”

“Cut to the chase, Fraser, will you?”

“Certainly, Ray. You see…”

“I was attacked by a vampire,” Harry interrupts and Ray’s attention shifts to the wizard.

“A vampire?”

“Yes, Detective, a vampire,” Harry sounds a tad annoyed by Ray’s scepticism but keeps explaining. “I had just learnt about the Black Courts involvement in my case and,” Harry grins sarcastically, “these guys don’t like people intervening in their business.”

“So what?” Ray asks. “You stabbed him and he went up in flames?”

Harry doesn’t answers Ray’s question, he just smiles at him, head cocked.

“Fraser?” Ray turns toward Fraser, apparently hoping for a more logical explanation.

“That’s exactly what happened, Ray.”

“You really wanna tell me that this guy,” Ray points with two fingers of his right hand accusingly at Harry, “killed, stabbed, flamed a vampire last night and you not only believe any of this but witnessed it? Without telling me?”

“Ray, ...”

“Yes or no, Fraser!”

“Yes, Ray,” Fraser admits, feeling Ray’s hurt almost physically like a stab wound. “But, Ray, I had no knowledge ...” Ray is facing Fraser now, his fingers warningly pointed at Fraser’s face, forcing him to stop speaking immediately.

“Partners, Fraser,” Ray says for the second time today. “Partners.”

“I’m truly sorry, Ray.”

“Do not speak to me, Fraser.” Ray is clearly upset with Fraser, keeping his distance.

“Understood.”

“All right, let’s pretend I buy any of this, vampire and all,” Ray avoids Fraser’s eyes, just looking at Harry who has taken a seat at the table again. “What can we do about it?”

“Detective,” Harry’s hands are on the table, he’s leaning toward Ray and Ray must sense what the wizard is about to say, he cocks his head warningly.

“This is my case,” Ray clarifies his former gesture. “Do not bullshit me.”

“Ray!”

“You stop talking to me, Fraser.”

“If I were able to take a look around Mrs. Conroy’s house or shop, I could try to cast a tracking spell and …”

“Tracking spell?”

“Yes,” Harry finally seems to lose his patience with Ray, talking more insistently. “I need a hair or some blood, just something from her to create a link from it to her. To find her.”

Ray is pacing up and down the room now, obviously considering his option. He stops in front of Fraser looking right into his face.

“You think that’s possible?”

“Yes, Ray,” Fraser answers seriously. “I have not witnessed anything like it myself, but that doesn’t mean that Harry isn’t in the possession of the power he claims to have.”

“Okay,” Ray decides, nodding his head. “Let’s go then.”

“Ray, perhaps Harry and I…” Fraser is about to suggest when Ray is right up in his face, glaring at him furiously. “Understood,” he complies without further words, following Ray out of the Interrogation Room.

~::~::~

It’s silent in the car, just Diefenbaker’s complaints about their additional passenger in the backseat, cuts through the quietness every now and then.

“You weren’t ever going to tell me, were you?” Ray suddenly asks, his eyes on the road in front of them, not looking at Fraser who tugs at his collar, playing for time.

“No, Ray, I wasn’t,” he admits finally.

“That’s what I thought,” Ray whispers under his breath like Fraser isn’t meant to hear him but, of course, he does. All too well is he hears Ray’s disappointment.

“People don’t believe…,” Harry tries to intervene from the backseat but is interrupted by Ray immediately.

“I’m not talking about ‘people’,” Ray growls, glaring in the rear mirror at Harry who raises his hands in reassurance before he leans back again, keeping quiet.

“Ray, I truly am sorry and …”

“What made you think that I wouldn’t believe you, huh?” Ray casts a brief glance at Fraser in the passenger seat. “I have seen some strange shit working with you, Fraser, I … believe everything you tell me.”

That obviously is an overstatement, Fraser can at least list eleven facts Ray dared to differ to be true in their past but that is not really important right now. Important is that, Ray follows him almost blindly – yes, he would complain and bicker about it but he would follow Fraser anyway. Like now, Ray hasn’t witnessed what Fraser has seen and yet here he is, following Fraser’s lead just because Fraser asked him to.

“Everything,” Ray repeats, slamming both hands against the steering wheel in frustration, and Fraser wants to take these hands, protect Ray against his own violence. But he doesn’t dare to touch his friend right now and keeps still, silently scolding himself a coward for not speaking up; fearing that anything he may say now would be misunderstood. For all the words he knows, they seem never be right while talking to Ray.

Ray stops the car in an exclusive district of Chicago, he apparently has chosen Mrs. Conroy’s place of residence as starting point for their investigation. Very wise, it’s most likely that they are going to find what Harry is looking for in Mrs. Conroy’s home.

Ray turns the engine down before he sighs silently against his hands on the steering wheel.

“Ray…”

“Let’s get at it,” Ray has opened the door and is out of the car before Fraser has a chance so say anything more. He hangs his head briefly before he leaves Ray’s car, pulling back his seat to let Harry and Diefenbaker emerge.

~::~::~

Mrs. Conroy’s home is locked, of course. There hasn’t been any ransom demand yet; the police wasn’t officially informed of her disappearance.

“Mrs, Conroy, this is the police,” Ray knocks at the door. “Open up.” But, of course, there is no answer to Ray’s request and he is about to reach for his well-known library card to pick the lock when Harry steps forward, Hockey stick in hand.

“Just a second,” Harry says, blocking Ray and Fraser’s view at the lock, a cloud of energy surrounding him which is suddenly released and the door opens. “After you.”

Ray doesn’t so much as blink before he enters, taking in their surroundings.

Isadora Conroy’s home attests to her profession – artefacts and antiques of different eras grace her walls, tables and floors. Fraser is certain to spot a rare vase of the Ming Dynasty; fairly certain that such a unique historical treasure belongs to a museum. There is even a mask, very similar to the ones Fraser’s friends Eric returned to his people, on the wall.

Other than Mrs. Conroy’s exclusive interior decoration they discover nothing that would indicate a case of kidnapping or possible murder.

“This place is spotless,” Ray says, walking through the rooms. “How could people live like that?”

“I imagine Mrs. Conroy’s home mirrors her working environment, Ray,” Fraser suggests, warily looking at his friend, but Ray doesn’t bite Fraser’s head off this time.

“What do you mean?” Ray asks. “Are you saying when my place of work is a mess, my home is too?”

“Of course not, Ray. I was merely indicating that our lifestyle is often reflected in the work we do and the other way around.”

“Huh?” Ray frowns at Fraser. “I don’t get that.”

“I found something,” Harry emerges from what seems to be the bathroom, a hairbrush in his hand.

“You can track her with a strand of hair?”

“I can try.”

“All right, wizard, show me what you got.” Ray pronounced the word ‘wizard’ rather sarcastically but Harry doesn’t seem to mind, He’s quite focused on setting up a circle on the floor which he’s sketching with a bit of chalk he’s taking out of the pocket of his jacket.

Harry seems to hesitate then, obviously considering his option, before he continues his ritual. Putting a strand of Mrs. Conroy’s hair inside the circle, adding a couple of his own nose hairs.

“That’s disgusting,” Ray exclaims but Harry isn’t been disturbed. He just touches a finger to the chalk circle and a small hiss of energy indicates that the circle is closed now.

“Ray!” Fraser whispers to keep his friend quiet, not really understanding why Ray can’t just accept that each individual has its own method to archive its goal.

“That’s even worse than licking stuff.”

“Ray!”

But Harry seems to be in deep concentration, not recognising anything around him. Energy is flaring; it’s noticeable in the air, gathering around the wizard inside the circle.

“Segui votro testatum,” Harry whispers, sneezing several times in a row before he opens the circle with a swipe of his foot, and turns in a slow circle, nose in the air like he’s nosing his track.

“You have to be kidding me,” Ray shakes his head, laughing bitterly when Harry points due south.

“Ray, we have no other lead about Mrs. Conroy’s whereabouts and a life is at stake. I’m certain you will agree with me that necessity is the mother of invention so to speak and clearly we can …”

“He’s sniffing the way, Fraser?”

“There isn’t much time, Constable,” Harry interrupts ignoring Ray’s objections. “We have to stop at my place first and I’m really not sure for how long my spell is going to work.”

“Ray?” Fraser asks hesitantly, his body turned toward the car already, and Ray just hangs his head in resignation, eyes closed for a moment.

“All right,” Ray straightens his shoulders then and boards his car.

~::~::~

Ray keeps quiet all the way to Harry’s apartment, obviously mulling over the options he may have in this unusual investigation. Fraser can relate to Ray’s confusion; overcoming one’s view isn’t an easy task in the first place, but being confronted with events which turn your whole view of the world upside down can be quite unsettling.

Fraser himself has experienced quite a few major changes in his life: his mother has died when he only was little boy and with her death his small world changed immensely, almost fell into pieces, really. He had been confronted with a whole new urban world to live in, come to think of it his whole life has been full of numerous changes he had very little control over. Starting with his father’s absence in his life, his murder, to his desperate love for Victoria to Ray Vecchio’s undercover assignment which has gifted him with Ray Kowalski in his life.

“I’ll be right back,” Harry says when Fraser lifts the passenger seat to let the wizard emerge.

“We’re coming with you,” Ray falls into step beside Harry, grinning brightly but without his usual charm. “You wouldn’t have some garlic and a wooden stick, maybe?”

“Ray,” Fraser scolds his friend. “You are behaving like a child.”

“It’s all right, Constable,” Harry sighs, but doesn’t seem to be awfully upset. He is obviously used to such behaviour and opens the front door of his place without further ado, stepping inside.

Ray follows hesitantly like he’s expecting to enter a Twilight Zone with monsters appearing from every corner. But, of course, that’s nonsense. As Fraser has already noticed this morning, Harry lives like any average person with small amount of luxury – Harry doesn’t seem to be entertained by a Television set, at least Fraser isn’t spotting one. Apparently there aren’t that many electrical devices to begin with. Perhaps that fact is related to Harry’s profession. Being surrounded by energy can’t be good with sensitive equipment.

While Ray is looking, snooping, really, around Harry’s place, Harry is packing some apparently important items like a small silver knife, a small bottle with unidentified content, a silver pentacle and chain, also a folded piece of white cloth. When he notices Fraser’s interest, he grins: “Never go unprepared.”

“I understand,” Fraser nods. “Proper preparation prevents poor performances.”

“Right.” Harry touches the silver pentacle around his wrist. “It belonged to my mother,” he smiles shyly when something catches his eyes and he frowns. Fraser looks to where Harry’s staring, noticing Harry’s spirit Bob in the corner of the room, outside of Ray’s vision.

“Go away, Bob,” Harry hisses but the spirit insists and apparently tries to communicate without raising his voice, gesticulating in Ray’s direction who is inspecting the contents of Harry’s ice-box in the kitchen.

“You mind if I have something to drink?”

“Go ahead, Detective,” Harry says, raising his eyebrows in question at Bob, evidently not understanding what the spirit is trying to indicate.

“Thanks.”

“Harry!” Bob finally uses his voice and points insistently at Ray who has found something to drink to his liking and swallows a dark liquid from a glass bottle.

Harry’s eyes go huge: “Shit!” He sprints into his kitchen but Ray has emptied the bottle before Harry reaches him.

Bob buries his face in his hands, sighing deeply before he vanishes into thin air.

“What?” Ray sounds annoyed; looking from the bottle in his hand to Harry who tries to appear relaxed but is obviously fraught with alarm.

“Never mind, Detective,” Harry smiles reassuring, but the glance between Ray and Fraser confirms their suspicions “All right,” he sighs. “That was not an ordinary iced tea,” Harry points at the empty bottle in Ray’s hand and Ray turns a shade pale, his body vibrating with annoyed energy.

“What was it then?” He wants to know, rightfully so.

“A potion.”

“Potion? You mean … like … like … a truth serum or something?”

“That’s exactly what it was, Detective.”

“What?” Ray’s face contorts into horror. “Undo it,” he demands. “Now!”

“Ray,” Fraser tries to calm down his friend who obviously is about to strangle the wizard, his hands already threatening lifted toward Harry’s throat. “I imagine, this potion is quite harmless, Harry?”

“Harmless?” Ray explodes. “How can it be harmless, Fraser? I’m doomed to tell the freaking truth.”

“That is nothing to worry about, Ray,” Fraser reassures. “Telling the truth should be essential in one’s life philosophy.”

Ray glares at Fraser furiously, all of Ray’s rage directed at him but Ray suddenly turns around then, leaving Harry’s place, the door slamming shut behind him.

“Oh dear.”

“It’s not going to work for another two and a half hour,” Harry says. “And then the spell holds for half an hour, forty-five minutes at the most.”

“I’m afraid that won’t satisfy him,” Fraser rubs over his eyebrow. “He feels like his privacy is invaded and Ray is very protective of his … privacy.”

“Maybe fighting some vampires would lift his mood,” Harry says lightly, reaching for his Hockey stick by the door.

“May I ask about this tool?”

“It just helps me to focus, centring the energy into one area.”

“Why a Hockey stick then? I imagine it’s a rather impractical to carry around.”

“I like Hockey,” Harry smiles. “And if my spell doesn’t work I can throw it.”

“Ah, I see, rather like a weapon.”

“Er…yeah. So, let’s hunt some vampires,” Harry says, leaving his apartment.

~::~::~

Ray’s mood hasn’t lifted over the events in Harry’s apartment, of course. He’s keeping quiet like he fears he is just going to blurt out anything that springs to his mind, ignoring Harry’s assurance that the spell isn’t going to work within the next hundred-twelve minutes. Driving around without distinct direction isn’t helping the process either. Apparently a tracking spell is not bound to the map of Chicago; Harry is leading Ray in a rather meandering line through all the city’s stop-lights which makes Ray angrier by the minute.

Darkness already falls when Harry finally points at a warehouse at the docks, fairly certain that they have reached our destination.

“These vampires are everything you’ve ever read about,” Harry explains, handing a wooden stick to Fraser and Ray who looks quite sceptical at the tool in his hand. “They are strong and fast. A bullet will slow them down but won’t kill them. A hit at their heart and they turn to ashes. Fire is very effective as well.”

“Easy cake,” Ray plays with the stick in his hand, grinning determinedly.

“Just follow my lead,” Harry suggests in a matter of course that makes Ray’s whole body go tense, ready to fight.

“Ray.” Fraser whispers, holing onto Ray’s forearm. “Harry is the most experienced in this matter. We really should consider his leadership in this case.”

Ray pulls free of Fraser’s hand: “No way, Fraser, I represent the law here and …”

“Ray, please be reasonable.”

“I’m all about reasonable today, Fraser,” Ray hisses angrily. “I’m dealing with vampires here. A wizard. A truth serum on top of it all. Do not tell me I am not reasonable!”

“Ray …”

“Shut up!” Ray whispers, lowering his eyes so Fraser isn’t able to see his expression “Lead the way, wizard.”

Harry casts a questioning look at Fraser but Fraser doesn’t see a possibility to resolve his quarrel with Ray just now. He sighs deeply, ordering Diefenbaker to stay in the car before he falls into step behind Harry and Ray.

~::~::~

It’s dark inside the warehouse but almost completely empty, with only a few boxes which could be used for cover. It makes it easy to spot their victim, Isadora Conroy, but equally simple to be spotted by their opponents who have gathered around their victim, currently chained to the floor in the centre of a triangle. Obviously Mrs. Conroy wasn’t only used as their antique dealer but as food as well.

Slurping sounds are audible and Ray’s throat escapes a sound of pure disgust. The vampires are obviously feeding upon their victim.

There is no time to waste and all three men step out of their cover as one, hurrying toward Isadora Conroy.

“Stay behind me,” Harry shouts, lifting his Hockey stick, gathering energy for his attack. But before he even can release his spell the vampires have surrounded them, moving fast, drawing the circle closer around them, fangs showing.

Ray by Fraser’s side reaches for his gun, starts firing. But as Harry has told them before, the hit vampires don’t stay down for long. They are upon them in a heartbeat, tearing at their skin, raising blood.

“Fraser!” Ray shouts a warning, holding off a vampire himself. And Fraser turns in time, wooden stick in hand to ward off his attacker. But handling the stick is more complicated than Fraser would have thought. He misses the vampire’s heart but at least has him keep at bay. For the moment.

They are shockingly outnumbered.

Harry quickly releases a wave of energy, killing one of his attackers but a fast head-count leads still to eleven vampires battling mercilessly.

“Fraser!” Ray’s second yell of his name let’s Fraser’s blood run cold in his veins. Pure terror makes Fraser move faster than he has ever thought possible. He is not feeling one of the wounds inflicted on his body, the blood running down his face and neck.

The stick in Fraser’s hand connects forcefully with an inhuman chest, turning the vampire to ashes. But all his efforts don’t bring him closer to his friend who’s surrounded by at least five vampires. One already leaning into his shoulder, reaching for his throat.

“Ray!” Fraser is panic-stricken. Never before has he felt like his heart is about to burst open with adrenaline. “Ray!”

Harry must have heard him screaming. Out of the corner of his eyes Fraser sees him pointing his Hockey stick in Ray’s direction, killing one vampire, hitting another one with collateral damage. But it isn’t nearly enough to save Ray.

Fraser struggles even harder.

“Fraser!”

“Ray,” Fraser is about to call again but his feet are pulled out from under him and he hits the concrete quite forcefully, his vision blurring.

Ray, Fraser keeps struggling, trying desperately to get on his feet again. The right sleeve of his uniform jacket is ripped from him, baring his flesh, and new rage is pulsating through Fraser’s body. He fights off two attackers and comes on his feet shaking with panic.

Ray is nowhere to be seen, just a pack of vampires on the ground a few feet away, clearly ripping on their new victim, Ray.

Everything around Fraser is a blur, he isn’t even aware of his body moving, fending off vampires, killing them. All he sees are the vampires on the ground, on Ray.

Out of nowhere suddenly appears another man – tall with sable hair that falls in tousled curls on his shoulders. He’s moving faster than humanly possible and Fraser fears another vampire, when the newcomer drags one vampire after another off of Ray, throwing them through the air like a child would fling a small stone over the water surface.

Harry must have won the upper hand in his battle, now helping Fraser. Fighting together they are able to kill three more vampires, driving back two more.

The battle is over.

Remaining are three badly bleeding men, an unmoving chained victim and a just slightly rumbled looking vampire.

“Thomas,” Harry breathes heavily.

“Are you all right, Harry?” The vampire asks worriedly, his hands running up and down Ray’s body who lies utterly still at Thomas’ feet, bleeding badly.

Like Thomas, Fraser doesn’t know to which of Ray’s wounds to attend to first when he kneels beside the vampire, taking in Ray’s battered body.

“Yes, I’m good,” Harry assures before he becomes aware of the blood running through Thomas’ hand, apparently affecting the vampire. His pupils go huge, and dark. But Fraser only notices Ray and his small movements, his ears burning to the sounds of Ray’s moans which strangely don’t sound like pain but more like sexual arousal, leading Fraser to wonder whether the helpful vampire has some kind of hold on Ray, making him… could it be that Ray is enjoying this?

“Thomas,” Harry commands. “Get away from him. Now!”

Fraser is alarmed by Harry’s distress, looking rather confused at their rescuer who is still bent over Ray, smelling him, tasting his blood. Or attempts to, his lips blistering upon the touching Ray’s skin.

“Ray!” “Thomas!” Fraser and Harry call and Harry is on his feet immediately, dragging Thomas off Ray who is reaching desperately for the vampire to draw him close again, his arousal obvious.

“Love you,” Ray whispers and a wave of shooting pain rushes through Fraser’s body hearing these words spoken to a stranger. Spoken so easily, and not to him. Never to him.

“Ray,” Fraser touches Ray’s side tenderly, inspecting a rather nasty gash there while Harry drags Thomas further away.

“Hey, Fraser, buddy,” Ray smiles at Fraser, his pupil dilated. “You look great,” he mumbles, reaching for Fraser’s smudgy blood face. “Beautiful.”

“Ray, you‘re in shock,” Fraser can’t even guess how badly Ray is wounded. There is blood all over his shirt and trousers but so is Fraser’s and he doesn’t feel all too terrible considering the fight they just fought. But Ray had been overpowered by vampires; his exposed skin is littered with bites, his shoulders and throat. “I’m going to call an ambulance.”

“No, Frase, don’t go away,” Ray pleads.

“Harry?” Fraser calls helplessly for the wizard who is freeing Mrs. Conroy of her chains, Thomas at his side. “We need an ambulance.”

“I called it in already,” Thomas says, stepping closer again and Fraser’s body tenses, ready to protect Ray from the vampire.

“I’m not a danger to him,” Thomas reassures smiling, touching Ray again, and attending to his wounds which seem to be countless but minor.

“I beg to differ, Mr. Thomas,” Fraser’s voice is ice-cold, slapping Thomas’ hand away. “You tried to feed upon him already and I will not allow further harm to Ray.”

“He is no use to me,” the vampire reaches for the sleeve of Ray’s shattered shirt, pressing the cloth down on one of the many bleeding wounds. But he avoids touching Ray’s skin. “True love is bad for my health,” he grins, touching his blistered lip carefully.

“Frase?” Ray’s voice is weak and Fraser hopes for the ambulance to arrive soon.

“Yes, Ray?”

“Who’s that good looking guy you’re talking too?” He whispers, his hand reaching for Fraser’s, closing around it quite possessively.

“No one, Ray. Just a friend.”

“Friend, huh?”

“Yes, Ray.”

“Better be,” Ray looks at Thomas now, apparently trying for one of his threatening glances. “He’s mine,” he states clearly, holding onto Fraser’s hand possessively, and Fraser’s heart leaps in his throat. But Ray’s hurt, he might be delusional from the blood loss. But he has also consumed a truth serum which should force Ray to tell the truth and nothing but the truth. Fraser suddenly feels very tired.

“I get that, buddy,” Thomas grins brightly, rising to his feet.

“The ambulance has arrived,” Harry calls, with an unconscious but obviously alive Mrs. Conroy in his arms.

“Ray, I have to …”

“Carry me, I know, Fraser.” Ray tries not to wince in pain when Fraser lifts him off the ground. “You okay there, Frase?” He whispers into Fraser’s ear, gushing hot breath over Fraser’s skin.

“Yes, Ray. A few stitches and I’ll be as good as new,” Fraser assures bravely, not paying the slightest attention to his own injuries. “The uniform on the other hand …,” he sighs deeply.

“That bad, huh?”

“Beyond repair, I’m afraid.”

“We will get you a new one.”

“Thank you, Ray.”

It’s quite a silly conversation, Fraser would admit when asked about later, but what really is important right now is that they have survived, and that Ray is breathing steadily on Fraser’s neck, appearing rather comfortable in Fraser’s strong arms.

Everything else can be dealt with later.

 

The End


End file.
